


Deep Sleeper

by ellasbeth



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Cunnilingus, Derogatory Language, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Objectification, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Somnophilia, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellasbeth/pseuds/ellasbeth
Summary: Thor is sent to Jotunheim on an investigative mission after the Jotunn court is not heard from for a thousand years. He finds a palace in a spelled slumber and a beautiful figure sleeping in a tower.





	1. Chapter 1

Thor stumbled as a piercingly cold gust of wind hit him, stirring the snow around him into a miniature blizzard, flakes caking his armour and clinging to his eyelashes. He scowled and shivered, bracing himself against the onslaught, drawing his thick cape tighter around his form with one hand while gripping Mjolnir with the other. 

 

“Fucking Jotunheim,” He muttered resentfully, eyes balefully scouring what he saw as frozen, barren, ugliness and comparing it to his golden home. 

 

Groaning, he forced his way further on, knee deep snow hindering his movement, and he considered using Mjolnir against his father’s orders. Even with the snow, flying would be far easier, far faster, and would reduce the amount of time he had to spend on this worthless rock. The peace treaty had stated that Asgard could not land within two miles of the Jotunn palace and no Aesir weaponry should be used upon approach, his father was truly a fool, he thought bitterly, thinking that Asgard had been entirely too meek in these negotiations, considering their victory in the war. His eyes scanned the landscape for any sign of movement. From the tales he knew of their cowardice, using seidr to melt into the permafrost ice to hide from their opponents, only to emerge and drag their victims into the snow, and felt a sneer cross his face. There was no honour among the Jotnar.  
He knew why he had been sent, it had been over a thousand years since the Jotunn court had been heard from or seen by any of the realms, hidden even from Heimdall’s gaze. It had made the Allfather and his advisors nervous, and so, they had sent their prince to investigate, alone to prevent any consideration of invasion and broken treaties. He had protested, tried to coax them into permitting him to take the Warriors Three and Sif with him but had been denied, had been reminded of his position as diplomat rather than warrior in this scenario. With another huff of irritation he shook off the settled snow on his form and pressed on, hoping that the Jotunn would at least be civilised enough to provide him with some form of comfort after his arrival. They would owe him that for this wasted journey, he thought balefully, and squinted as spires appeared in the distance, at least he was nearing his destination. 

 

The castle was a mess, wild ice had grown over the castle’s walls, obscuring the carefully and ornately carved ice beneath, and snow had drifted into huge slumping dunes against the walls. Thor had peered into the surrounding city, finding only the seemingly sleeping bodies of the townsfolk in their houses, slowly being buried by the encroaching snow. With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, he approached a small ice house, and pushed inside. The room was small and filled with the needs for everyday life, carved furniture made from a variety of snow and strange rock so dark a blue it was almost black, he turned into the family room, and froze as he came across a young jotunn. He crouched next to a sleeping child, almost the size of an adult Aesir, and pressed hesitant fingers into its throat, and yanked his hand away at the feeling of a heartbeat. He stood again, wiping his hand unconsciously on his armour before checking the larger forms in the house: all alive, all absolutely unresponsive. Thor eyed the large dunes of snow dubiously, considering the half consumed house behind the one he had entered, wondered at how many had been swallowed by the shifting snow. With a heavy sigh he forced his way through the snow to the door of the swallowed house, and entered with a heavy sense of awful anticipation resting in his stomach, he gazed around warily, taking note of the buckled ceiling over him and the collapsed section of the house. There was no sign of the family which had lived there, and he left quickly, wanting to distance himself from the unstable house which groaned with every brush of the wind. He shuddered, hair standing on end as he registered the magic in the air, slowing the snow’s approach to a crawl, even though it had reached the village, and turned back to the palace.  
_Where was the royal family?_ He thought, anger bubbling below the surface, _were they hiding within, watching the snow slowly bury their people alive?_  
Another gust of freezing wind struck him, sending him staggering back into the snow he had forced his way through, and his patience broke. He spun Mjolnir, building momentum quickly, power thrumming through his core as she sang, and threw himself over the wall. He landed with practiced ease, snow swirling around him as he landed. He gazed around, noting guards slumped under pillars, sleeping hands clutching ice spears, dressed in ceremonial armour. _Seidr_ he thought in irritation, it was the only explanation for the eerie quiet which permeated the castle’s grounds. He stepped over the body of a particularly large jotunn, half swallowed by the snow, and hesitated. Without aid it would surely die, smothered and suffocated by the heavy whiteness which had consumed so much. With a put-upon eye-roll he grasped the soldier under the arms and dragged him into the colossal doorway which he was going to use for entry, propped him up against the wall carelessly and swiftly moved on without a backward glance. 

 

He pressed against the large door, and grunted as he felt it strain against frozen hinges. Thor stepped back, eyeing the large chunks of ice which had collected around the door, and swung Mjolnir hard against it, shattering the ice and tearing the door from its long unused hinges. The sound of the shattering door hinges echoed through the ice palace, along with the deep cracking sound of impact upon the floor, and he tensed automatically, waiting for the stampede of footsteps coming his way. Instead he was met with silence, and he quietly entered the hall. He wandered for a long time, grudgingly admiring the still intact interior of the palace, the arched ceilings and twisting columns. He traced the carved leg of a towering jotunn figure, gazing up into the stern face of the sculpture, so finely carved for a race he had perceived as being base and savage. He continued walking, idly spinning Mjolnir as he walked, stepping over servants who had clearly been caught in the middle of their daily tasks, one was sprawled on the ground, a basket overturned a few feet away, surrounded by the remains of fragile linens, another crumpled against a table. He eyed the area curiously; whatever had occurred here had been sudden, had overtaken an entire working castle and its city in a matter of moments, leaving its residents unconscious and defenceless. Despite having been overtaken in places by the snow there was no sign of any of Jotunheim’s famously vicious wildlife, not attracted by the sleeping bodies or the rotted food stores he had seen, something was keeping them away. 

 

He entered the throne room with no great worry, knowing that he would only find the same scenes which he had observed in the rest of the palace. He stared up at the throne of Jotunheim and the body of its king slumped upon it, head tilted back, leaving the blue throat vulnerable. Laufey, he thought, eyeing the packed muscles which adorned his form, unaffected by, what had presumably been, centuries of slumber. With an easy jump he landed on the arm of the throne, and shook the king roughly, no response. Instead of waking, the king crumpled to one side, and Thor turned away with disgust at the sight of his father’s greatest enemy so thoroughly defeated and vulnerable. He landed again on the floor, and turned to explore deeper into the palace, walk taking on a cocky step as he explored the enemy palace. He had dreamed of exploring it under far less peaceful circumstances, his childhood games had involved deep fantasies of destruction and glorious battle, as per the stories he had been told by the warriors of Asgard, but his interest had been peaked. Returning to Asgard could wait, the jotnar had been asleep for centuries, and they could sleep for a little longer. He eyed a large ice diamond embedded in a pillar, greedy fingers tracing the rare gem jealously, and he slid his dagger out of its sheath and started working it free. He always took a souvenir from his adventures, and that would do quite nicely: a jewel from the heart of the palace of Laufey. The gem came loose and Thor turned it in his hands, enjoying the pale blue and lilac shimmer which glowed in the faint sunlight of Jotunnheim. Turning away, Thor eyed a set of spiralling stairs leading off from a hall and started to climb until he reached an ornate door and pressed inside, to reveal a small figure laid on a large, carved bed of ice. He approached the bed, and the Jotunn laid upon it, slowly, still expecting a trap to close in around him, for the savage residents to descend upon him in the manner he had always been told about. Nothing. He flipped Mjolnir from one hand to the other restlessly, and drew aside the flimsy curtain which surrounded the figure. 

 

He felt himself stiffen in his breeches, and leant over the body on the bed curiously, eyes examining the beautiful figure beneath him. He’d heard of Jotunn runts, had heard the crude and lascivious commentary made by Aesir soldiers which had before seemed grotesque and unlikely… but now, now he understood. The Jotunn was small, more like an Aesir than a Jotunn, thick dark hair spilling across the pillow, fine features making for a beautiful face, long legs which he ached to stroke, and a slender waist which he wanted to cover in handprints. With a curious finger he traced the familial lines on his stomach, following the lines which curled along slender hipbones and back up to the curve of the waist. Thor’s gaze stopped on a particularly distinct curve, identifying its twin residing on the sleeping King downstairs, a familial line, he realised. With increased hunger he stared down at the body beneath him, no longer a charming runt but a true prince of Jotunheim. He reached out a hand to cup the prince’s chin, relishing in the softness of his thick skin, and rubbed a thumb across parted lips, dipping into the cool wetness of the sleeping mouth, feeling sharp teeth graze the skin of his hand gently as he stroked the rough tongue beneath his fingers. He groaned a little at the cool sensation against his skin, and leant down to press an almost chaste kiss against the slack mouth, easily plundering the soft lips, nipping and biting until they were swollen and lilac against pale blue skin. He knew Heimdall could not see him here, had been warned before travelling, and he smiled down at his prize, the diamond long forgotten in the face of something far more appealing. Nimbly, he climbed onto the large bed, curtain falling closed around them, sealing them away from the world and the cold in a cocoon of spelled warmth, and stroked a hand down the prince’s bare chest, rubbing over pebbled nipples and pinching roughly until they were puffy and erect. With a lascivious grin he thought of the stories he had been told, now taking on a far more interesting hue since the tales of beauty had proven to be true. He remembered Tyr’s gleeful tales of how he had laid a runt during the war, of how sweet and tight it had been beneath him, and how it had provided the pleasure of man and woman at the same time. Thor remembered his thoughts of disgust at laying with a jotunn and pitied his ignorant younger self, so completely unaware of the treasure to be found on Jotunheim. Thor ground his hand against his hardened cock as he gazed down at the jotunn beside him, leant down to press another kiss to its soft lips, licking deep and filthy into his mouth, leaving its lips shining and tempting, while rubbing his cock against the exposed hip available to him. 

 

He rose to kneel over the jotunn’s pretty face, bringing his cock to rest on the slightly parted lips, smearing his precome over the soft skin with a filthy moan. He grinned down at the debauched figure under him, how regal he had appeared when Thor had stumbled into his bedroom and now pinned beneath him and covered with his spend. With a groan he wrapped a hand around his cock, pressing it against sleeping lips in a simulation of a kiss, and slowly started edging closer to orgasm. His eyes were glued to the face beneath him, how the head of his cock slipped ever so slightly into his mouth, just barely touching the tip of the rough tongue which protruded ever so slightly between bright white teeth. He shuddered as he pressed a little further in, teeth barely grazing his cock, and desire bloomed ever hotter in his belly, he wanted to slip deep into his jotunn’s throat, wanted to see how the sleeping jotunn would react to having his throat stuffed. He stilled, hand still cradling his achingly hard cock and slipped his other hand to cup the sharp chin, and eased the tempting mouth open to receive him. He would have to be careful of the teeth but he was sure that he could move him into a sufficient position. Thor took an excited breath and breached the cool wet mouth, now anchoring one hand in dark hair to keep the head still while the other pressed into the hinge of his jaw, keeping it open as wide as he needed. An awake partner would complain, but like this he could do whatever he pleased. A dark thrill laced in his gut and he gave a rough thrust into the throat, pushing to the limit, and froze as a muffled little moan emerged from beneath him, and he realised the jotunn was unconsciously suckling on the cock in his mouth, as naturally as a babe on its thumb. 

“Needy little whore,” He murmured, voice filled with delight as the rough little tongue curled around his shaft to allow the vacuum-like throat to suck even more firmly. He gazed down at the spread lips, enjoying the lilac colour against the redness of his cock, and continued his selfish thrusting into the wet tightness. “To think a Prince of Jotunheim would enjoy such debauchery, this is instinctive for you, isn’t it? To suck on a cock, like this.”

He slipped in another inch, and moaned, before forcing his way balls deep into the little jotunn’s throat, he pressed a hand to it, enjoying the feeling of his cock in the tight passage and the peristaltic motion of his thrusts, as well as the pressure of his own hand on his cock through the skin. Thor’s eyes slid closed in sheer bliss, and then started a rough rhythm, balls hitting the jotunn’s chin as his nose was pressed into Thor’s heaving belly. He gave a shout of pleasure and, in a moment of clarity, pulled out of the jotunn’s mouth as he came, and watched in satisfaction as his come spattered, bright white, over blue skin, and into the mouth he still forced open, coating the tongue in spend. He sat on the body beneath him, panting harshly, and finally allowed the jaw to slip into a more natural position. Thor smeared a finger through the come on the face beneath him, still serene in its slumber, and scooped a little into the waiting mouth, before he collapsed on the bed beside his conquest, hands wandering possessively over the lithe form of the jotunn prince. 

 

After he had recovered, and had spent an appropriate amount of time tormenting every erogenous zone he could find until the sleeping prince was a panting mess beneath his hands, he rolled back on top of his prize, positioning himself between the long slender legs he had admired. With eager hands he swept the loin cloth to the side, parting slender legs further with hands so excited it was almost rough, and stared gleefully at the plump purple folds which lay between the Jotunn’s thighs. All true. All of it. He groaned and pulled the cloth away from the body beneath him, throwing it to the corner of the bed before turning his attention back to the beautiful figure. With eager fingers he caught the slender cock in his hand, gently rubbing it into hardness and toying with the foreskin until it began to leak pale blue precum which slicked the path of his questing hands, and he grinned and batted it lightly, watching it stand to attention and move with his little hits. He leant his forehead against the tight muscles of the jotunn’s stomach, clearly maintained by whatever magic had descended upon the castle, and sucked a bruise into the soft skin before trailing down to take the cock into his mouth. He hummed in pleasure as he suckled on the cock, teasing the delicate skin with his tongue to encourage more of the light flavour onto his tongue, dipping into the slit with sure motions and hummed as he felt it twitch in his mouth. He froze as the jotunn gave a gasping moan, hips lifting to push deeper into Thor’s mouth, and he pulled away to gaze at the jotunn’s face, graceful brows furrowed and lips parted as he panted, still locked in slumber. Thor sat back on his heels and wrapped a large hand around the stiff cock, eyes fixed on the expressive features before him, enjoying every twist of the graceful brow and every choked whimper which escaped from slack lips. He ran his nail over the head of the jotunn’s cock and watched in fascination as the jotunn came apart, pearlescent blue spend coating his hand, and watched as a lilac flush spread across the jotunn’s cheeks and chest. Thor rubbed his fingers together, feeling the gel like slickness of the fluid and bent to wipe it across the jotunn’s pretty face to join his own come which already decorated the fine royal features. He leant back to admire his handiwork and freed his cock, gently toying with himself as he enjoyed the view of the debauched figure beneath him. 

 

With a groan he laid over the jotunn, cocks nestled together, enjoying the pleasant coolness of the man’s skin against his own, and rubbed himself against the body eagerly. 

“How long have you been sleeping, just waiting here for me in your tower?” He murmured in the jotunn’s ear, lips catching the edge as he spoke, He nibbled on the jotunn’s ear, enjoying the little shivers which wracked the body he had pinned to the bed, and moved to suck a possessive bruise into the skin of his throat, right above the fluttering pulse. 

He kissed his way down the jotunn’s flat chest until he reached the nipples, and pressed a kiss to each one, before latching on and sucking hard on the pebbled nub. He grinned as the jotunn squirmed beneath him, and he slotted a large hand between their bodies, feeling the spend leaking from the jotunn’s cock before questing lower to feel the soaked flesh of the cunt he was so desperate to sink into. He slotted a finger inside and moaned into the jotunn’s chest as he felt the virgin tightness resisting the intrusion, and gave the nipple in his mouth a loving nip. A whimper sounded from above him and he nipped harder, feeling the muscles beneath him jerk, and the cunt tightened even further around his curious finger. So sensitive, so responsive to every touch, and he doubled down on the abuse of this jotunn’s flesh, following every bite with a loving lick before starting the cycle again, until the jotunn released a series of beautifully erotic whines and moans.

 

“You liked that, didn’t you? Norns, you’re so wet for me, little one, your little cunt can barely wait to be split open by my cock,” His voice was thick with lust even to his own ears and he slotted a second finger into the supine jotunn, spreading him open impatiently, uncaring of his sleeping partner’s comfort. From there, a third finger was easily slipped inside and he scissored his fingers and drew back to stare at the entrance he was coveting. 

 

He removed his fingers and ducked down to press the flat of his tongue to the purple folds and licked a stripe up the slick opening, before groaning and pressing his tongue as deep as possible into the entrance, curling against and pressing into the sensitive walls which clenched around him, trying to draw the penetration ever deeper. Thor licked and suckled at the folds, hands keeping blue thighs spread as they attempted to close around his head to pull him closer, and burrowed closer as he savoured the saltiness on his tongue. Another breathy whine was released as the jotunn came again, slick soaking into Thor’s beard, and he pressed a kiss into the folds as he sat up, hand rising to wipe away the excess slick. He petted the jotunn’s trembling thighs gently, and ran a thumb up the cunt to the tip of his cock, mixing slick and come together as he toyed with the shuddering body beneath him. He played for a few moments longer, pressing against the trembling little cunt beneath his hands, slipping his fingers back inside gently and scissoring his fingers to hold him open beneath his gaze, before curling his hand around the weeping cock again and forcing him as close to orgasm as possible before stopping and waiting for him to soften. Thor dragged him to the edge again and again with wicked hands until the jotunn squirmed in his sleep, cock leaking come which trickled down to mix with the slick which had wet the inside of his thighs, leaving them gleaming in the light. 

 

Impatience rose in his gut and he rubbed the head of his cock against the slick of the cunt, groaning in pleasure as he felt his cock catch at the opened entrance and bore down almost viciously. He sank inside, and felt the slight resistance of virginity give way to him, and he grinned as he took the last of the jotunn’s innocence from him. His head tipped back in pleasure at the fluttering tightness around him, eyes slipping closed in bliss, and rocked his hips up against the jotunn’s over and over again, grinding into the cunt, feeling the muscles gradually loosen around him, finally surrendering to his claim. His hands moved to slender hips, easily finding their purchase and he ground deep into the body beneath him, small rocking thrusts graduating into a hard rhythm which left his sleeping partner jolting hard against the bed, only kept in place by rough possessive hands around his middle, pulling him back to meet every hard thrust delivered into his body. Thor slowed his thrusts, hands clenching hard on the blue skin, hard enough to leave perfect bruised impressions of his hands, as he staved off his orgasm, biting sharply into his lip and forcing his hips into stillness. 

 

As he forced himself back from his impending orgasm he stared down at the face beneath him, still smeared with come and slick, mouth open as he panted, eyes still firmly closed beneath blue eye lids. Beautiful. He imagined the jotunn beneath him waking, little cunt clenching around his cock in shock as he was forcefully roused from the enchanted slumber, eyes widening in surprise before succumbing to the pleasure Thor was forcing into his body, utterly debauched and ruined while impaled on Aesir cock. He groaned at the fantasy and rutted into the body beneath him at an increasing pace, pulling him down to match his thrusts roughly, cock bumping against cervix with every thrust, forcing choked little breaths from sleeping lungs. Thor released the jotunn’s hips and collapsed onto him as he came in sync with the body beneath him, groaning as the jotunn’s clenching cunt milked him through his orgasm, and he filled the jotunn with his hot spend. He stayed lodged in the body beneath him, unwilling to move and allow his spend to leak out of the swollen opening he had fucked into, instead nuzzling his flushed face into the blessedly cool crook of the long blue throat available to him and enjoyed the little clenching aftershocks which still rippled through the beautiful form beneath him. 

 

Unwillingly, he raised his head from where it had come to rest and pressed a sloppy kiss onto the jotunn’s mouth, teeth biting into the plump bottom lip which was still a swollen lilac from earlier assaults and rocked his oversensitised cock into the come-slick opening he had claimed before pulling out, and kneeling over the figure on the bed. He gazed at the swollen purple folds and smirked a little at how his come leaked from the opening, and his gaze roved lazily over the jotunn’s body, over the long smooth legs, the small waist covered in his hand prints, paying special attention to puffy little nipples he had spent so much time on, and up to a pair of very awake and dazed red eyes gazing blearily up at him.


	2. Chapter 2

The curse was hell, Loki knew, kept him trapped in his own sleeping body in some horrifying approximation of sleep paralysis. He drifted in and out of awareness at the whim of the enchantress who had bound him, sleeping for years at a time before being forced into the waking world and into the prison that his body had become, held in consciousness until he begged for the strange lucid sleep he was kept in. During those horrifying periods of wakefulness the days and nights blurred into a sickening smear of time he wasn’t permitted to experience, he couldn’t move, couldn’t even open his eyes, the only clue to the day and night being the glow which made its way through his eyelids. The only sensations were the bed beneath him and the slow burn of the witch’s magic keeping him and the palace frozen in time, stopping him from aging, from dying, even from slipping into madness, there was truly no escape. 

 

He had been a bare month past his majority when she had appeared in his fadir’s court, red hair shifting on invisible winds, dark grey eyes promising to exact a revenge which Loki was not privy to the cause of. He remembered summoning his magic in defence but it was abruptly smothered, and a long nailed hand had wound around his throat, caressing his hammering pulse with something close to tenderness. His fadir had frozen upon his throne, and she had noticed, pressing her grinning lips to Loki’s throat, how dearly the Elder King valued his youngest son. 

“We meet again,” She had sneered, face partially hidden in his hair, overly hot breath prickling over his skin uncomfortably, not hot enough to burn but hot enough to leave his skin feeling tender. “You remember my brother?” Her voice took on a dark tone, hand tightening its grasp on his throat, and he had stared at his father with wide eyes.

“I do.” Laufey ground out, voice rough as the movement of the deep glaciers, eyes furious and giant fists clenching around the arms of his throne as he watched her use his son as a shield against the jotunn guards surrounding them. 

“You murdered him, frost giant,” She sneered, voice dripping with absolute revulsion on the slur, “You took him from me, my little brother, and I will have what is owed.” 

Loki’s mind was whirring faster and faster, she was powerful, a gentle probe with his suppressed magic confirmed it, a well far larger than his own rested in her sturdy form, and his father wasn’t moving to aid him. He gathered a little magic in his core, scraping what he could from her grasp, desperately trying to collect enough to teleport to safety. 

“He was a monster,” His father refuted, righteous anger momentarily overtaking fatherly concern, “Murderer of entire villages, the Bringer of Sorrow. Release my son, and I will let you leave with your life.”

Her hand clenched tighter, and Loki choked. “Fadir…” He managed, unsure of his meaning even as he tried to call for his father. He managed to gather a little more, and a little more, not enough to teleport yet, but enough that he would soon be capable of some sort of action. 

“Life…” She muttered, followed by a bitter little laugh, “I would wish you a lifetime of suffering for what you’ve done, but that would still be life…” 

He felt her shift, and he saw a smile carve into her mouth in the perfect reflection of the ice across the room, and she stroked her other hand down his chest to rest on his belly. He squirmed in discomfort and she tightened her hold on his neck even further, and he sagged into her hot form as she throttled him. 

“No-“ He had heard his father choke out, lurching up from his throne towards his youngest, the last of his children with his beloved Nal. 

“Death is too good for you,” She sneered. “I have the perfect solution, no death for any resident of this cesspit, just never ending life which cannot be lived. Life will be your greatest curse, _King_.”

Then he had been swallowed by a tidal wave of sickly golden magic, his own green barely subverting the spell being cast over every person within the city, and then he was limp in her grasp. He remembered little after that, only being carried to the tallest tower, his lax body arranged on the bed by hands which were strangely gentle, positioning his hands, his face, stripping him out of his ceremonial clothing and leaving him in nothing but a loin cloth, arranging his hair in a black halo around his head.

“You were intended to sleep for an eternity, little one, but you had to interfere. You will find no respite in madness as your kingdom is swallowed by snow, I will make sure of that, but I think some awareness is far crueller than what I had intended. The spell will only break when your virginity is taken, you jotunn value your chastity so greatly, only mate with one for your lifetime. Your father will be helpless as his precious youngest is seeded and taken from him.” Her voice was almost gentle, but the vein of smugness laying beneath her words belied her satisfaction. He ached to open his eyes, to stare properly upon his captor’s face, but he couldn’t move a muscle, eyelids locked closed and separating him from the world. 

A hot hand traced his cheekbone with a facsimile of kindness, moving to caress his cheek, and he felt her lean close, breath brushing over his lips, “You should be thankful that your looks are palatable, little one, someone might take the time to rouse you if they even bother to investigate this worthless hovel.” 

Her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth, heat boring into his skin like a brand and then she pulled away, the sensation of her lips on his lingering sickeningly, and a childish urge to scrub at his lips with the back of his hand rose, wanting to remove the feeling from his body. Her weight vanished from her spot beside him upon the bed, and fear raced through him as he realised that her kiss would be the last sensation he would have. A terrified part of him longed to scream, to make any sound at all, beg her to return, but her spell kept him lax upon the bed. The desire to sob rose up his throat, almost choking him, but his frozen muscles trapped it deep in his chest and he lay in absolute silence, waiting for someone to find him. 

 

He woke for the first time in many years to the feeling of a cock sliding deep into his body, stretching him open and breaking his virginity in one rough thrust. The appearance of sensation alone stunned his starved senses, and for a few moments his brain stalled as it processed the first feeling in centuries, hyper-focussed on the uncomfortable stretch which almost slipped onto the wrong side of pain, before registering the absolute all-consuming heat of it inside his body. He felt almost as though it was melting him, despite it being an absolute impossibility, his cunt weeping a seemingly endless amount of slick with every hard thrust delivered into him, easing the way, and slowly the overly rough thrusts started to awaken a slight shard of pleasure deep in his gut. Panic bloomed in his belly, followed by a wave of sickness from being taken like this: forcefully, as an object rather than an equal partner, but in his core twisted joy rose, freedom was close, and a sob of joy and grief rose in his chest as the two feelings danced with each other mercilessly, leaving his groggy mind confused and raw. Large, hot hands caressed their way to the dip of his waist and clamped down hard, bruising in their possessive grasp, forcing his body to move to permit deeper, harder penetration. He felt the shard of pleasure grow to a wave in his stomach, threatening to overwhelm him, and wanted to whimper, but all that escaped his lips was a sharp pant of air, and his magic began to connect to the being above him, a tenuous mating bond beginning to form. 

His senses slowly expanded as he became used to the new sensations, could hear the sharp slick noises of his cunt being claimed, the deep groans of the man above him as he took his pleasure, the cracking of the ice carved bed frame beneath their joined bodies as he was jostled with every rough thrust into his body. His nipples were a pleasurable ache from eager lips and teeth, from curious fingers which had tweaked and tugged on sensitive flesh, and he could feel their connection to the growing warmth in his cunt. All he could smell was sex and musk, his face covered in hot spend which overpowered his sensitive nose and left him drowning in the scent of this man, overpowered in every way as he took what he wanted. His tongue was thick with spend, and he could feel the witch’s magic puppeteering his throat muscles to encourage it to join the rest of the man’s come deep in his stomach, she wouldn’t allow him to choke when her vengeance had arrived, where it sat hot and heavy, seeming to stake its claim at every opportunity. 

The man finally spilled when he had dragged Loki over the edge and into orgasm, his cock pressed firmly against Loki’s cervix, and his hot spend worked its way even deeper into Loki’s body, his cunt’s rhythmic clenching maximising the load which stuffed his womb until he was overwhelmed and it began to leak. The man crumpled onto his heaving body, hot face nestled deep into the crook of his throat as though they were lovers, heavy muscles indicating his warrior class, and a worry bloomed in Loki’s stomach. The man’s form only fit with one species within the realms, too bulky for any of the elven species, too hot for any Midgardian, wrongly proportioned for the dwarves, so… Aesir. The man’s cock softened in his cunt, finally spent and sated, their mixed essences leaking out around it, and his hot lips found Loki’s own and a rough kiss was pressed to his lips, all teeth and claiming, and the witch’s magic snapped. 

 

The man above him was, initially, a golden smear. He blinked. A luxury, an aching, beautiful freedom, a single, tiny motion which takes a far grander meaning than it ever could have done before. He continued to stare as the man summoned something to his hand, Loki raises an arm _raises his own hand_ \- to paw at his face to wipe his eyes, clear his vision, and the feeling of metal presses to his chest, heavy against his lungs, and a hand grabbed his wrist hard, pinning him to the bed he had been bound to for a thousand years. His legs were still spread around the Aesir’s (he still hadn’t figured out a word for the mixed feelings the man evoked in him) hips, whorishly wide, his open cunt still leaking spend and slick onto the soaked bedding beneath him. Shame rippled through him, and he ached to close his legs, to pretend that he was still chaste, but instead he lay beneath the man above him, splayed open and vulnerable. He blinked his way into focus and fear erupted in his heart. He squirmed beneath the Aesir above him, hands fisting the bedding beneath him as he tried in vain to drag his treacherously pleasure soaked body away from his assailant, he looked so much like Odin, like the monster of his childhood stories, but so much younger, and he realised… he had been woken by his son. Was bound to his son. The witch had truly gotten a far more comprehensive vengeance than she had ever bargained for, forcibly joining two age old foes together in a manner which would be completely irreversible. Had, even with this half-bond, mated them together for the forseeable future. It would only snap into place on the birth of a child, but until that time it would exist like a stone in his shoe, uncomfortable and shifting until addressed, irreversible.

“Speak now, Frost Giant, and I demand the truth from your cursed lips.” The man’s voice was harsh and commanding, and Loki trembled a little, still painfully exposed, reaching out to the magic which roused sleepily in his chest, slowly coming awake after so long. He probed it gently and felt it spark into life, reaching out curiously to the energy around the hammer pressing him into the bed and towards its owner, his skin prickled with the electricity of a storm, leaving his familial lines raised and sensitive. Powerful. Would be a fearsome opponent, and his mind began to form the semblance of a plan, blurred by the panic of waking in this manner, but still filled with potential. 

“We were cursed,” He whispered, bludgeoned throat leaving him hoarse and quiet, but of course he would have been taken in that way too, no consideration had been shown. “A witch with a vengeance, she came and trapped us in slumber until someone would- would-” He choked on the final words, and his eyes moved to the door where noise had started to echo through the halls, cries of distress and confusion assaulting his ears. 

“I broke the curse.” The Aesir said faintly, hand releasing Loki’s slender wrist, and Loki wished he could move quickly, remove himself from the humiliating position he was trapped in, body still reconnecting to his brain, still weakened from years of sleep, still pinned beneath the hammer. “I’m sorry-“ He started, voice plaintive but, Loki could tell, was more sorry about being caught than about the act he had committed. 

“I will let you go,” Loki grinds out, his stomach churning with a mix of grief at the loss of his virginity and choice and the burgeoning joy of being free, of being awake. He steadies his core, he will not cry in front of an Aesir, he won’t, he _won’t_. “Leave now, and I will tell no one of what you did to me, my father will remain unknowing of who violated me.” 

A furious roar echoed through the palace, and heavy footsteps began pounding towards the tower room: his fadir had recovered, and clearly knew what had occurred. It would be war, without a question, and it would be a slaughter. It had been a thousand years, enough time for the snows to encroach upon the city, to kill many of their subjects, enough time for every supply store to have rotted away to nothing. No, Loki decided, what would be needed now is peace and aid, and he had the perfect resource still sitting astride him. 

“I will mask the Bifrost site, I will allow you to leave without being identified, however,” He said coolly, forcing his voice steady, “You will entreat your father to provide aid when I come to request it now and forever, you will keep the peace between our worlds to the best of your ability, and in the event of my becoming… pregnant, I will have your hand. I will have your vow, Odinson.” He held out a shaking pale blue hand, glowing with faint green magic, and the Odinson eyed it warily before flinching at the footsteps coming closer, and nodded, no time to bargain, only enough time to choose war or peace.

“Deal.” His large hand clenched around Loki’s slim one, the vow snapped into place around their souls and with a heave of magic, Loki teleported the prince far across Jotunheim’s frozen lands, to a place where the Birost would not be seen. Finally alone, he sank back onto the bed, and finally allowed himself to sob. 

 

Asgard was hot and gaudy, Loki decided mulishly, missing the intricate ice carvings of his home, but the reintroduction of Jotunheim to the realms was imperative. He would face the Odinson again for the first time since the curse had been broken and their bargain had been struck, and he was nervous. The half-bond was a problem, made him more susceptible to the man who had broken the curse (he refused to consider it any other way, if the Odinson had resisted, he and his kingdom would remain frozen in slumber, he would be trapped in that strange lucid dream he could never escape), would make it difficult to resist that base urge to grow closer without intervention. 

His fadir had been furious at the state he had found him in: bruised, claimed, covered in and leaking Aesir spend, had immediately dragged him to the groggy healer and demanded information. The healer had been… uncharacteristically sympathetic considering the situation: the youngest prince half way bound to an unknown curse-breaking assailant, a figure caught between rapist and saviour. He had been healed and checked thoroughly, yes he was bound to the point of no return, but no he was not pregnant. At least not yet. Jotunn bodies stored spend for two seasons before it was discarded, and if it took, Loki would be forced to seek out his mate, and everything would be revealed, but he could control it. His father would be furious initially, but the concept of such a hold over Asgard would eventually outweigh his fatherly outrage, Asgard would be forced to capitulate due to the vow Loki had wound around himself and the Odinson, no matter what occurred he had a hold, and the idea of such control via a bond was almost unbearably tempting. He would leave it for now, he could control himself, control the mythic tie which an uninterrupted bond would cause.

The doors to the Asgardian throne room were large, larger than even a jotunn would need, and Loki rolled his eyes covertly, image was everything in Asgard. Which was why he wore the stiff and uncomfortable ceremonial dress of House Laufey, restrictive leathers around his waist, defending the softest parts of his body, leggings covered by a heavily jewelled skirt made only bearable by small enchantments carved into the stones to lighten the load, he glowed under the twin suns of Asgard, a brilliant shard of ice in a world of gold. The doors opened slowly, and he walked purposefully toward the throne, ignoring the hissing whispers of the crowd, keeping his eyes firmly on the top step of the dais where the Allfather sat. The Odinson- Thor, he had since learned- stood awkwardly to one side, and Loki could feel his blue eyes on him, flicking between his face and belly, could sense the anxiety and stress behind the gaze, and satisfaction rippled through him, let him suffer for a moment longer, let him squirm. 

After a good few moments, he finally raised his eyes to Thor’s, and the half-bond panged a little in his heart, a possibility he would not consider for some time to come, but a small part of him coveted the sheer power it held. He forced it back down, now was not the time for sentiment. They exchanged a small nod and Thor’s shoulders dropped infinitesimally: Loki would keep his promise, Thor would escape retribution from his family for his deeds, but he was bound to Loki and his promises for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was tough to write, trying to get a hold of those mixed feelings Loki would have for Thor was a task but I hope it came out ok. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely feedback on the first chapter, it makes me so happy that people actually like all this stuff that I write. Sorry it took so long, but I'm currently experiencing the pain of being a proper adult.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep had become difficult for Loki since the curse had been broken, and he would frequently try to avoid it. The feeling of his body shutting down, becoming unresponsive, terrified him, triggering a huge void of anxiety to bloom in his stomach until his breathing grew shallow and laboured, frost prickling over his skin in uncontrolled bursts, and his heart would hammer in his chest like it was trying to crack his ribs. Worse still, the panic attacks could only keep him awake for so long, the adrenaline wore away with what felt like an increased speed after each one, and his body would submit to the need for sleep, and he would sink into dreams punctuated by red hair, heavy golden hands, and echoes of the strange lucid dreams he had lived in for centuries. 

 

On Asgard, Thor’s presence weighed heavily on him, the half-bond tugging his attention towards the large blonde form when they shared a room, pulled their paths towards each other’s when they walked through Asgard’s gilded halls, forced him to lie awake and restless on nights he tried to sleep until he was forced from his bed by the desperate itch for movement, and it guided him with unerring accuracy to the presence of an equally restless Thor. The sight of him was always a shock to the system, quickening his heart and pumping a mixture of adrenaline and arousal through his system, giving rise to the mix of emotions he had wrestled with since the day Thor had broken the curse and claimed his body. 

 

Walking the halls of Asgard at night left him feeling worried, spinning on his heels to check for any stalking presence, it reminded him of the nightmares he had as a child, snatched by the Aesir and trying to find his way out of the labyrinthine golden halls. 

“This is stupid,” He murmured to himself, cringing as the smooth halls carried his voice far away and echoed it back to him, and he muttered again, too quiet for an echo, “I should go back.”

Instinct drove him on, encouraged his steps further into the palace and towards the inner gardens which the royal family frequented. Plants lined the corridors in a dizzying array of colours and scents, made seemingly stronger by the quiet of the night, and he breathed it in slowly, savouring the foreign scents and allowing them to calm him. Then a noise broke the peaceful silence and he froze, a feeling of unfounded guilt rising in his stomach, followed by a fear of being discovered. Thor. On this night he staunched the desire to teleport back to his rooms and instead hunkered down behind a large marble pillar and stared down the hallway at the golden prince, the way the golden tanned skin rippled over his muscled back, the taper of broad shoulders to the trim waist, the way the golden hair caught the light of Asgard’s solitary moon, the way his brow furrowed in concerned thought as the bond guided him. Still pressed into his corner, Loki watched him roam ever closer to his hiding spot, searching miserably, until he ventured too close and Loki vanished in a flicker of magic and returned to his bed to force himself into a restless and uneasy slumber. 

He wanted to hate Thor for it, wanted to lodge the blame solely upon those broad shoulders, but it was _his_ biology, _his_ magic, and _Thor’s_ fault for triggering the situation ( _and had saved him from his endless slumber_ a small voice would whisper in more rational times). When he was less entrenched in his void of anger and grief his blame was laid solely at the door of the true cause of his troubles: the witch, red headed and creative in her desire for vengeance. His fadir had forbidden him from tracking her down, had threatened to bind his magic and himself to the palace, in safety he had said, and Loki had acquiesced with a heavy stone of bitterness weighing in his stomach, treasuring his newly found freedom too much to risk it on her. Instead he had been sent away, the only Jotun of the royal family whose education had existed primarily of politics and diplomacy, trained from birth to slip into other cultures with the same ease that his diminutive size permitted, a perfect political representative for Jotunheim. His fadir had been reluctant to let him go, protective hands lingering on his shoulders and in his hair as he had prepared him for Bifrost travel, words of advice spilling from him in uncontrolled bursts until the Watcher had snatched him from the frozen skin of Jotunheim and catapulted him in a sickening swirl of colour through space.

He was trapped on Asgard until the treaties were agreed upon, trapped on a hot and humid world with an unwanted bond until Odin stopped demanding more power over his planet in exchange for aid. Loki had to suppress a hysterical laugh every time the topic arose, eyes meeting Thor’s across the table with an unspoken understanding that neither would speak, little did the Allfather know that his son had, however inadvertently, already secured an indelible hold over Laufey’s third, and most powerful, son. 

 

The floors were hot beneath the soles of his feet, close to the burning threshold under the midday suns and he sighed wearily before casting a spell over himself to cool the floors around him to the point of comfort. The constant need for magic was pulling on him, spells to protect his skin from sunburn, spells to keep himself cool enough to wear enough clothing to be permitted within Asgard’s rigid court, spells to contact his father when talks escalated past his level of influence, spells to keep his quarters at a bearable temperature and maintain the ice bed he had crafted on his first night. It was exhausting living on Asgard for the long term, and coupled with the constant pull toward Thor it was a miracle that he was functioning at all. 

“Prince Loki,” A voice behind him called, female and familiar from hours of negotiations and meals spent with Asgard’s royalty: Queen Frigga, Thor’s mother, balm to Odin Allfather. He bowed deeply, as required by custom, his eyes fixed on the intricate spun-gold embroidery which embellished her gown, before rising to meet clever blue eyes which examined him with an unnerving focus. He fought the urge to fidget, forcing himself still and regal, despite the feeling of being unwound and pried open. “How are you today?”

She took his arm firmly, he had no idea when she had gotten so close, and they began to walk together; despite all appearances she was leading, arms linked firmly together, heated Aesir skin against Jotunn cool. 

“Very well, my lady, I continue to enjoy the differences between our realms." A diplomatic answer, he did not dare to lie to her completely, to heap praises on this world which would be insincere, and something in her gaze spoke to a canny mind which would pierce his lies with little effort. So, half-truths would suffice, hinting a little of his discomfort and desire to leave, while wrapping it up in the honesty of his own instinctive curiosity about the golden realm he had spent many hours exploring in a myriad of disguises as he rooted out every secret he could. 

“I am glad to hear it Loki, and you are not troubled too greatly by the heat? I remember tales of Queen Bestla suffering on her visits prior to the wars, there are records of cooling recipes and spells which proved effective for managing her temperature which may prove helpful for you.” Her tone was mild, face only displaying an acceptably cool level of interest in his physical state, but he kept himself guarded against her. 

Undoubtedly she had seen him cast the spell a few moments before, had observed the other symptoms of his kind suffering from the heat: the frost prickling across his skin to cool him, the slight grey pallor of his skin, the way he styled his hair in a braid which lifted it away from his skin to prevent it trapping any more warmth than necessary against his skin instead of the loose style he was accustomed to. He ducked his head slightly, a small feeling of gratitude growing in his heart, outside of his control, at her tactful expression of concern, “I am well, your majesty, although the measures you speak of would be greatly appreciated. Our climates are irreconcilably different, and our peoples are similarly affected.”

“Consider it done,” She soothed, a small smile playing on her lips. “I must confess to being surprised by your interactions with Thor. He has internalised much misinformation from the tales told by the soldiers and nurses of your people, as I am sure you have been told of ours, but he appears quite ambivalent towards you. I find it quite… interesting that he is so fascinated.” 

_Hands tight on his waist, hot breath on his face and throat, heated come stuffing his womb full…_ He snapped back to the present abruptly, cramming the memory back into its place before turning to Thor’s mother with a practiced lack of awkwardness, impressive considering the vivid memory of her son fucking into his body, threatening to turn his cheeks a stunning violet. “Meeting real jotnar had an effect upon him, I suppose. It is difficult for bigoted tales to maintain their power in the face of… personal experience.”

Another smile flitted across her lips, clearly pleased by his assessment, “You sound as though you speak from your own, Loki. I am glad that the younger generation appears to be fostering goodwill for the future, it allows hope where little lay before.” Loki almost wanted to scoff, but he suppressed it again, he had to be careful, had to keep himself from offending the most powerful woman in the nine realms. She also didn’t need to know the leverage which existed behind Thor’s support for Loki’s cause, didn’t need to be made aware of the potential which still resided inside him, or of the bond which would exist between them forever. “The curse upon your people has certainly hindered your realm’s recovery, I would hope your father is satisfied by the talks thus far?”

Loki swallowed a little, a hint of worry sprouting in his gut. Thor was of marriageable age and so was he, what had once been an extreme age difference had whittled down to nothing, in fact Thor was a century older than him at this point, both mentally and physically. The time spent asleep had truly changed his political landscape, had altered his potential matches exponentially, certainly tipping the scale in Asgard’s favour. He eyed her expression with closed wariness, it would be considered a fine match on all sides: Asgard’s unlimited support and protection in exchange for unlimited access to Jotunheim’s buried resources, and unique flora and fauna which were valued so highly medicinally, and all it would cost would be the youngest prince of Jotunheim and his resistance to completing the bond with Thor. “He is, your highness, thus far our agreements please him greatly. Asgard’s aid during this time is invaluable.” 

She drew them to a halt as they arrived at the doors of the hall being used for the treaties and turned to face him, finally releasing his arm which tingled with left-over warmth, “The ties between our worlds are strong, Loki, and we will both benefit from the efforts put into these negotiations long into the future. I expect to see you at dinner again tonight, we can continue getting to know each other better during that time.” She smiled at him as he bowed again, vision filling with golden finery, and he watched her leave, skirts swishing pleasantly against the floors as she moved, deceptively harmless, disguising the steel at the core of the woman who wore them.

He turned to the doors ahead of him, trepidation building in his gut as he processed their conversation and sensed Thor’s presence inside. With a shaky breath, he straightened his spine and entered the room with as much confidence and grace as he could. He felt the curious eyes of the advisors upon him, assessing and calculating, initially they had discounted him, thought he would be an easy mark: youngest son, so recently freed from a curse, but he had proven them all wrong, had driven his bargains hard to get what his home required. His eyes met Thor’s before he bowed to the Allfather, blue eyes boring into him with the constant mix of heated, animal desire and confusion, and he took his place at the table, ready for yet more hours of hard negotiation of trade and aid agreements to save his people, all while Thor continued his fixed gaze.

 

He laid on his bed with a hand resting on his belly, stroking the skin above the womb which still clung stubbornly to the Odinson’s seed, even after two seasons it still rested within him, still thrummed with potential against his seeking magic when he sent a little probe to check on it. He had expected his body to purge it after his last cycle but something kept it there, something from Thor’s well of magic which resisted his body’s own functions. He almost wished it would take root in him, that his body would open the pocket and allow it to bind him completely, ending this dance between himself and his almost-mate.

A whimper broke from his lips as the bond prickled pleasantly at the idea, and he felt his cunt wet a little, damping his loin cloth and tempting his fingers towards his half-hard cock and the folds of his cunt beneath it. He reached shakily downwards, fingers skimming his hipbones before hesitating above his straining cock and throbbing cunt, he moaned a little, need beginning to outweigh his pride. Phantom feelings of Thor rolled over him, his hot lips harsh against Loki’s own, large hands at his waist pulling at him and controlling his movements, the heavy mass of the muscled body weighing down on him, the press of that hot cock against his entrance, and he sobbed as his cock spilled over his still flat stomach, completely untouched, and he pressed three desperate fingers into his cunt.

It never felt quite right, the stretch was wrong, his fingers too slim, and it lacked the heat which had burrowed its way inside him and claimed the rights to his body, but his fingers would do for now. He curled his fingers up against the spot at the front wall of his cunt where he was most sensitive and released a wail barely muffled by the fist he pressed against his mouth as he hit the right spot, wetness drenching his wrist and leaking onto the bed. Helpless against the pleasure he sobbed into his fist, and the thrusts of his fingers became rougher, more demanding, until he was trembling and whimpering beneath the onslaught battering against his pleasure centre. He couldn’t stop, body clenching hard around his questing fingers, trying to draw them deeper inside, trying to maximise the feeling of being taken, and he fucked himself harder, heels digging into the bed as his hips lifted instinctively to meet the thrusts of his fingers, wrist beginning to ache as he ground his hips towards the intrusion in his body. His walls clamped down around his fingers as he came, and his vision whited out for a few seconds, mouth falling open as he moaned shamelessly, uncaring of the potential for a palace guard to hear him, and his thighs locked around his hand greedily as the orgasm rocked through him, keeping it in place, forcing it to keep him stretched open deliciously wide.

He dropped his other hand to his chest, pinching and pulling at his nipples until they puffed up beneath his fingers, aching for more touch, and he gave a ragged little moan, mind conjuring the feeling of a hot mouth on his chest and he sobbed loudly as he produced another orgasm from his eager body. His hand dropped down to where his cock lay, spent and exhausted, and he stroked it gently, shuddering at the feeling of his hand on his over sensitised skin until it became unbearable and instead clung to the mussed bedsheets beneath him, as though trying to ground himself. He returned his focus to his hungry cunt and tore orgasm after orgasm out of his weary body until the craving settled unhappily in his guts and he slumped back into the slick-soaked sheets, legs splayed open and fingers still lingering against the traitorous body part as he shivered his way through the aftershocks of his pleasure. He stared up at the painted ceiling where a woman and a swan gazed down at him, huffing desperate little pants: it was getting worse. The arousal fuelled fantasies were becoming more and more real, affecting him more viscerally, and he closed his eyes as the feeling of defeat rose in his throat as though to choke him, he couldn't control himself. He was at the point of no return, if he continued to do nothing the bond would increase its strength, and the pull on them both would become unbearable. He had to choose.

He steadied his mind determinedly, and pushed away the sour taste of defeat, instead allowing himself to scheme. He had underestimated the power of the bond, yes, but it was double-sided: if he was suffering thusly, the Odinson would be in a similar state, and he would have no understanding of what was happening to him. An advantage for Loki, and one which he could exploit. Secondly, while unwanted initially, the half-bond was his greatest asset, his greatest weapon, it would provide an irremovable hold on the house of Odin. If his partner had to be Thor, he would own him completely, would coax as much power from Asgard as he could before allowing the bond to settle, and then he would allow it to take him, allow it to develop into that feeling of deep love and devotion which accompanied all willing jotunn bonds. He spelled himself clean and moved a shaky but purposeful hand to the flat planes of his stomach, magic sinking deep inside his body, and he coaxed his womb into its most receptive state before encouraging his body to release a portion of the Odinson’s spend around the egg he had coaxed into existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said that the 2nd chapter would be the last chapter. I lied. 
> 
> This was only meant to be a one-shot porn with a hint of plot. Now look at this mess. I'm working on another Thor chapter as well, so y'know, maybe Loki and Thor will even talk tk each other. More to come, I guess.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been months since his jotunn- Loki, he reminded himself, his name was Loki- had arrived on Asgard to negotiate aid for Jotunheim and despite everything Thor couldn’t stop staring. Loki’s blue skin had been beautiful on Jotunheim but on Asgard he appeared radiant, the frost which bloomed on his skin shone and shimmered under Asgard’s suns, catching the eye of all who saw him, and accentuating the absolute exoticism of his form. Seeing Loki in Asgard for the first time had been surreal, like dream made real now he had been removed from the surreal setting of his cursed palace, a place Thor now frequented in his fantasies. 

 

The meeting had gone on too long, Thor thought, two of the day’s meals had come and gone, delivered on fine golden trays piled high with fragrant meats and lush fruits. He plucked a grape from its vine and bit through its crisp flesh, listening as Loki clashed with one of his father’s advisors again over the rights to one of the diamond rich valleys of Jotunheim. Loki declared it too close to the sacred religious glaciers to be disturbed, and the advisor sputtered in angered consternation, clearly wanting to denounce the jotunn worship of the deep ice as foolish savagery but restraining himself just barely. Thor’s eyes slid to Loki, who clearly saw the wish of the advisor quite clearly, red eyes flinty as he rebuffed the offer easily. He met his father’s eye and they shared a look of quiet respect for the young prince, it still threw him off how their years had changed, how he had been but a child when Loki had been cursed and was now the elder of the two. His father’s gaze was deeply interested, brightening with one of his many schemes when Loki proved particularly capable, and Thor wondered at his thinking. Sighing, his eyes skimmed over Loki’s waist, remembering the smallness of it beneath his hands, the delectable feeling of control it had given him as he had pressed balls deep into Loki’s body until he hit the resistance of cervix. He craved him, something in him had awoken after he had returned to Asgard, a burning, needy desire in his gut to rut and plough and seed Loki’s body until he…

“What do you think of Prince Loki’s proposal, Prince Thor?” A weasel faced advisor asked, lip curled in a sneer so subtle it was near unnoticeable, and the distaste was shared. Where the advisor thought Thor a meat headed boor, Thor considered the advisor little more than an honourless, simpering cur. He tilted his head as though in thought, casting his gaze across to Loki, who inclined his head slightly, indicating that he wanted Thor to agree with him as per their agreement. A flicker of powerless resentment rose in his throat, and a thin lipped knowing smile crossed Loki’s lovely face, and he acquiesced as the vow pulled at his mind roughly. He couldn’t go against him. 

“I believe that Prince Loki’s terms are appropriate, and the valley to the east would be a more appropriate location for mining, it is more sheltered for one and far from the sacred ice flows. Our peace is intended to last, disrespecting sacred lands will only lead to war.” He kept his voice neutral, eyes locking with Loki’s for a second, and his cheeks flushed a little as the gaze was held for a moment longer than was appropriate before turning to the apoplectic face of the advisor. 

His father nodded a little, single eye flickering between his own face and Loki’s, heavy with consideration and curiosity, clearly aware of their silent exchanges even though he was unaware if their origin. “A wise decision, my son. So it shall be. The eastern valley will be mined in exchange for Asgard’s protection against the threat of Svartalfheim.” 

Thor watched Loki bow his head a little, and thought he saw tiny hint of relief in the curl of his lip. He hadn’t known Svartalfheim to be a threat to Loki’s home-world, hadn’t truly considered how vulnerable they had been made, weakened by years of their infrastructure crumbling, of years of food supplies going to waste, and towns being buried. It was little wonder that since the truth behind Jotunheim’s reclusiveness had been revealed that hostile worlds would have begun to take note of the frozen realm’s status. The meeting ended shortly thereafter, and Loki quickly left the room, straight backed and elegant in a way which made Thor’s mouth water. He made to follow the jotunn as he always did, feet pulling him magnetically towards the lovely form as though compelled, something in him craved closeness, craved the feeling of the softer, thicker skin of Loki against his own, but his father cleared his throat, and called him back. Thor stood reluctantly still, watching with fascinated eyes the sway of Loki’s hips as he walked away, gaze running down the slender calves, before turning disappointed eyes back onto his father. 

 

He lay awake as he had most nights since returning from Jotunheim, aching deep in his chest as though something crucial was missing, legs itching to move, to hunt down the thing he needed. He groaned, burying his face in his pillow, a ridiculous notion to put himself to sleep via suffocation entering his head, and rolled to sit on the side, legs hanging over the edge. _Hunt hunt hunt_ , something in him whispered, and he gripped his mattress tightly, the feeling was foreign, Thor’s instincts usually swung more towards fighting than hunting, preferred a straight confrontation to stealth. He couldn’t resist, and walked, barefoot and shirtless into the halls of the palace. He couldn’t think of how inappropriate it was, the crown prince of Asgard wandering the halls in his smallclothes, mind completely clouded by the need to find whatever it was that his body craved. If he was seen, the dressing down he would receive from his mother and father would be astronomical, especially if the foreign diplomats being housed in close but separate halls saw him, but in this moment he didn’t care. Cared only for relief. The pull guided him towards the fountain in one of the grander halls of the palace, a balm of relief settling over his heart as he drew closer, and he froze as he saw caught sight of a graceful limb rounding a corner, and he made toward the figure, cock hardening and stride quickening. He needed the figure, wanted to catch him and hold him and possess him. He groaned a little as the scent of the figure hit him, and broke into a jog, rounding the corner eagerly and… nothing. Just a slight haziness in the air and the strange clean scent of magic which tickled at his nose irritatingly, a morose feeling rose in him and he turned away, feet dragging as he stumbled back toward his quarters. The pull was muted now, barely registering in his mind as exhaustion took over, and he stumbled, disappointed, back to his rooms and into a restless sleep. 

 

Thor palmed himself through his breeches, hard cock begging for the cool touch of jotunn flesh, aching to plunge back into the cool wetness of Loki’s cunny like it had on the first day he had seen him. He bounced the woman on his lap roughly, and she gave a high pitched - _wrongwrongwrong_ \- whimper as her wet cunt rubbed against his leather clad thigh, leaving the material shiny and slick. She was barely dressed, bodice torn open to expose her tits to his eager lips, skirts hitched up obscenely around her waist where he forced her to hold them, his own hands busy in the hot and humid air beneath, flicking and pinching at her clit with practiced ease, dipping into her _too hot too hot too hot_ slit, teasing her towards orgasm and feeling her hot slick against his wrists as he dipped his fingers into her cunt. It was all wrong, the sensations were dull in comparison, lacked the incredible contrast of Loki’s body to his own, the feeling of his cock fucking Loki into something close to warmth but still maintaining that glorious cool which was so pleasant on his skin. The woman (he couldn’t remember her name… Groa? Greta?) was dark haired and slim, as were all his partners as of late, which made it easier to pretend, but her tits were too big beneath his hands, the flare of her waist didn’t allow him the same purchase for fucking, and she lacked the cock which had rubbed against him with every movement that Loki’s body had… but she would do for now. He stood, lifting her in his arms with ease, her pretty face delighted and laughing as he pinned her against the wall, her hands eagerly drawing his cock from his trousers, and finally fucked in. He buried his face in her shoulder and groaned as he rolled his hips into her roughly, ignoring her little squeals of pleasure which grated on his ears, he rutted selfishly into her body, trying to maximise his own pleasure as he used her. All he could think about was Loki, how he moved, how he spoke, the feeling of burying his hands in long black hair… and his cock softened abruptly mid-thrust, rejecting the pleasure he had garnered from Giselle’s (was that her name?) body, and he groaned in frustration, lust still at a distracting peak, untouched by the woman he rested inside. He pulled out of her abruptly, eyes snapping open as his skin started crawling, itching as though dirty, and he shuddered as he felt her warmth in his arms, muscles cringing as though he couldn’t wait to draw away from her. He stepped away, almost dropping her as he fled from her touch, leaving her crumpled and used, and stalked to his bathroom to bathe, eager to cleanse himself of her touch, impatience rising in his gut as she slowly gathered herself from her post-orgasmic glow and left with a quiet curtsy and a breathy:  
“Thank you, sire…”

 

After that night, Thor had tried everything. Had tried to bed half a dozen maidens and serving boys and failed at every count, leaving him rubbed raw and aching for the touch of a very specific being, and he was becoming more and more foul tempered every day. 

“By the Norns, Thor, what has you so wound up? You’re going to kill someone at this rate.” Fandral gasped, hand cradling bruised ribs as they continued to circle each other, limping slightly from an unnecessarily vicious blow from earlier, “Surely you can tempt some bright young thing into your bed to work out your aggression in a more… appropriate manner.” 

Thor flushed in embarrassment and swung for his shoulder, mind clouded by the memories of failed nights with all of those young lovers, covering his failure to perform by driving them to distraction even as his entire body ached to twist away from them, how bile had risen in his gullet at the sensation of a woman’s slick on his fingers, how he had almost retched at the feeling of his cock touching a pretty stable boy’s skin. Nothing was right, their bodies all wrong in his mind, too hot, too big, skin not soft enough, lips not fitting right against his own… and all since… He froze abruptly, and Fandral’s sword sliced painfully across his ribs, easily parting the fabric of the training tunic he wore and the red fabric quickly became heavy with blood. 

“Thor!” Sif’s voice came, tight with concern mixed with frustration, “You know far better than this. Leave now and sort yourself out, if you refuse to focus you cannot spar. If you get hurt, you know what the consequences for serious injury of a royal are, and Norns know that you don’t want to harm one of us. Get your head together and come back when you’re prepared to give this the focus it requires.” 

He bowed his head in shame, it was true. By sparring in this frustrated, angry state, all he was was a danger. The chance of his Beserker instincts breaking free was seriously high, his body would carve its way through an entire battalion before tiring, and if he was seriously injured the punishment for one of his friends would be severe. “You are right, Sif. I am in no state to spar today, and I have put you all at risk. Forgive me.”

He turned away, and began walking back toward the castle, misery blooming in his stomach. He couldn’t spar, couldn’t have his way with the beautiful members of society as he had enjoyed for so long, and certainly couldn’t tell his friends the truth of his exploit in Jotunheim. He stalked toward, what he thought were, his rooms and froze as he spied an unmistakeable figure at the end of the corridor. Warmth and heated desire burned through him, and he stared at the figure, eyes drinking in every inch of skin like he was dying of dehydration. Loki. _Loki Loki Loki Loki Loki_. Nothing could compare, how could he have ever expected it to? 

 

Fandral lazed next to him, golden hair glimmering in the sun, a roguish smile on his handsome face as he and Thor gazed at the blue figure touring the gardens below, arm linked with the Queen’s, and their heads dipped in conversation. 

“You must admit, Thor, the frost giant is quite the stunning creature. Have you seen how glorious its back end is? Even after a lifetime of sleep it is a sight to behold, quite perfect, wouldn’t you say? I think it would bend quite prettily with the right motivation.” His voice was salacious, eyes locked on the tight fabric which encased the back-end in question, Asgardian garb still appeared strange on the blue figure, but, it had been decided, made Loki appear quite becoming and far more appropriate for appearing as a guest of Asgard’s royal house. Thor had mourned the loss of bared skin initially, but having learnt of the salacious talk being had about his- about Loki, the more covered appearance was preferred, the only eyes he wanted on Loki’s bared skin were his own.

Thor bristled at Fandral’s tone, “Prince Loki,” He stated, trying to subtly stress the status of the body being examined, “Is a sight to behold, and an excellent representative for his kind.” 

Fandral rolled his eyes and scoffed a little, “He is a haughty little thing though, needs a good hard fuck to get it out of his system. They say all jotunn are intersexed, you know, what wonders there are to be reaped from that wasteland. What I would give to get beneath those pretty skirts he wore when he arrived…” He followed the statement up with a wishful little sigh, “Not to mention his front is quite pleasing as well, strange how something so beautiful came from Laufey’s stock, don’t you think? One wonders what his dowry will be when the time comes.”

Thor’s heart dropped to his stomach, “Dowry?” He managed, voice tight as he stared at Loki with even more intensity, mind rolling back to the feeling of Loki’s body, his throat tight around his cock…

“Well, Thor, I am surprised you haven’t considered this. Even in its current state, Jotunheim is a desirable ally, and they are no doubt eager to gain backing from the rest of the realms… and with a representative like that,” He gestured toward Loki again, tongue swiping across his lips lustily, “they are sure to be flooded with interest.”

Anger boiled in Thor’s stomach at the thought of Loki’s hand being bought by some noble from another realm, and he suppressed a possessive growl, held it deep in his chest, and felt it ferment into more furious desire. He jolted to his feet, hands flexing at his sides, eyes still locked on the pair in the gardens below.

“Excuse me, I need- I have things to attend to.” His voice was disjointed, and he spun away and stalked back to the castle.

Behind him, Fandral leant up from his reclined position and, with a crooked eyebrow and bemused little smirk, allowed his gaze to flit from Thor’s retreating form to Loki with a growing interest. 

“Interesting,” He murmured, “Very interesting.”

 

Thor paced in his rooms restlessly, ignoring the pull towards Loki as well as he could. Something had taken hold of him, something to do with the crafty third son of Laufey, and he couldn’t escape it. His vows prevented harm from coming to Jotunheim from Asgard, bound him to provide the necessary aid, and had promised himself to Loki in the event that his transgression left undeniable proof. He had, he realised, very little power in this situation; not that the agreement hadn’t been fair at the time. He had courted war between their lands by impulsively laying the jotunn, and while it had turned out to be the key to free the land from the witch, he hadn’t known. All he had responded to was his own selfish desire, barely exonerated by his actions saving Loki’s people, and, he knew, had it not been for breaking the curse, Loki would have killed Thor himself.  
He groaned a little, rubbing shaking hands over his face, over skin which felt too tight as he was tugged to find Loki. He needed to talk to him, needed to make amends, needed to beg his forgiveness, needed to find out what, by the Nine, had happened to him since that night. His cock ached from countless nights spent rutting into his own hand, or up against his sheets like a naughty puppy, and still he wasn’t satisfied, only succeeding to make the fantasies stronger, make it even harder to resist grabbing Loki across the table and pulling him into his lap. Thor had a feeling, a very strong feeling, about who and what his relief would be granted by. Control finally breaking, he staggered to the door and allowed himself to be pulled inexorably toward Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for getting through another chapter of whatever this has turned into. 
> 
> Did Thor and Loki talk at all? Nope. Will they talk next chapter? Signs look good, friends, signs look good.
> 
> Also finally changed my very old username because, while I like it and might use it somewhere else at some point, having the word 'sin' linked to an account where I write shipping is uncomfortable. So, I done did a change for the better.


	5. Chapter 5

Loki braced himself as he pressed a trembling palm against the mirror, a small tremulous breath slipping from between his lips, he was almost panting as he repressed the stinging ache of worry further and further down into his gut. He forced his shoulders down from the hunched, defensive pose they had risen into, forcing himself towards something resembling calm as he called upon his magic. It strained a little in his grasp, a deep prickling sensation alerting him to its fatigued state, but the spell needed to be cast. Frost crept out from his palm to cover the glass, spiralling designs gradually flattening into a perfect sheet of ice: today was the day he would tell his fadir the truth. His stomach twisted at the thought, nerves leaving him feeling almost sick, his fadir would be furious. Would be furious with the Odinson for what he had done, and furious with Loki for keeping it from him. He would be lucky to leave Utgard within the next century if Laufey had his way, would bind Loki’s power and put him under the supervision of Angrboda, the only jotunn who could successfully keep Loki in one place. He shuddered at the thought, remembering the many weeks he had been confined for in his middle years, Angrboda’s magic like a vice around his own, acting as leash and punishment in one, remembered how unbalanced he felt, dizziness and weakness common during that time, only remedied by the tiny shard of magic he was allowed when his father gave permission. He jolted as the connection snapped into place, consciousness threading through the ice to meet his fadir’s.

After being in Asgard for so long his father’s stature was almost alarming, hands large enough to encircle Loki’s shoulders, able to lift him with barely any effort at all. Loki  
steadied himself before raising his eyes to meet Laufey’s, he needed to stay in control, needed to lead the conversation before Laufey’s infamous temper got the better of him. 

“Hello, fadir.” He said, smiling a little wanly, as his father gazed down at him with sharp, clever eyes. 

“Loki,” His father greeted, happiness only barely discernible in the gravelly voice which brought him so much comfort. “How do you fare on Asgard? The heat can be immense at this time of year, and I know how your magic is still recovering from the curse.” 

At the mention of the curse his father’s eyes darted to Loki’s stomach, still concerned about the bond which hung over Loki’s head, and still, Loki knew, highly suspicious of the entire situation. While Loki had ever been a competent liar, Laufey had a knack for seeing through Loki’s façade, had an unerring ability to thwart his plans seemingly by chance.  
“I am well, fadir,” He said, bowing his head respectfully, “Queen Frigga has been very kind to me, she has found records of Great Mother Bestla’s visits and is supplying me with the remedies she used. Father…” He paused, pressing the thumb of his right hand into the meat of his left nervously.

His father nodded briefly, before his eyes slid back to examine Loki carefully, taking in the slightly drawn look of his face, the slightly pallid blue of his skin, and the whites of his eyes showing around the red. “You are looking for an opening to say something, Loki. I suggest you take this opportunity to come out with whatever you have been hiding, before I decide to bring you home immediately. While your dealings with the Aesir thus far have been… largely successful,” Loki’s lines flushed violet as he remembered the deal which had resulted in the stationing of a troop of Einherjar within Utgard’s palace to report on Jotunheim’s political situation, “I will not hesitate to send another in your place should there be a need.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, hands twisting together more viciously. “I understand, father. I- I lied. About the curse. About knowing who broke it.” He cringed as his father’s shadow engulfed him, a large finger coming to rest under his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. The truth was always so much more painful than the lie.

“Loki,” His father’s voice resonated with a fury as cold as the frozen lakes, “Who?”  
He trembled as his father’s large hand wrapped around the back of his head, keeping him in place as he demanded the truth of who had woken them all. The grip was gentle as it always was, but this time it felt weightier, more defensive than it had in the past, as though Laufey wanted to hide him in his palms as he had when Loki had been but a toddler.

“You have to understand-“ Loki tried, voice as confident as he could make it in the presence of coldly furious Laufey.

“I have to understand, do I? I will contact Odin this very hour and have him return you to the palace, the dealings will wait until this is done. We can survive with what has been agreed so far, you will bring Visari up to date as soon as you return and he will complete the treaties in your place. Then you will report to Angrboda for supervision, you will not leave his sight, do you hear me? The bond will already be strong, and you cannot be trusted to remain in safety. The healers will begin the protective rites while your brothers and I hunt your violator down, and when you are safe, we will rip him apart for what he has done and we will feed his soul to the casket.”

Fear rippled through Loki’s heart, severing a bond was rare but not unheard of when a bond was forced, but it was incredibly dangerous for the surviving bond-mate. He would be put to sleep ( _no no no_ ) and encased in the great ice, to prevent the trauma of feeling his bond-mate die and then the healers would use their magics to cauterise the wound in his head until all that would be left was the strange phantom pain of what had once been a bond. Bonds among his people were permanent, only severed by death, and any bonds made after would be platonic, still prized but inherently different from the first. He trembled at the thought of being forced back into sleep, and panic made his gorge rise. 

“ _No._ You can’t-“ He protested, voice weak and horrified to his own ears.

“It will be painful, Loki, but I will not allow you to be taken from us like this. While the curse may have been broken, he took what should never have been taken.” His father shook with rage, and abruptly Loki realised just how quickly he had lost control over the situation,

Loki’s eyes were wide, his father’s grip verging on painfully tight against his skull, and he wavered a little, fear beginning to take over. “You can’t!” He exclaimed, voice cracking in panic. His father didn’t understand, didn’t know who it was that he was threatening, didn’t know the danger being courted even by saying those words. Jotunheim could never survive the absolute decimation which would be brought upon them should they harm a hair on Thor’s head. The Aesir would raise their planet to the ground, would take them apart and grind them down until nothing remained of the people who had dared to strike at the heart of Asgard’s royal family. It would be a bloodbath.

“I _can’t_?” Laufey said dangerously, and Loki felt the brush of his father’s magic against his mind, muffled through the layers of mental connection which permitted them to speak as though face to face. He was trying to make contact with Loki’s own, and Loki threw up his shields immediately, rebuffing the attempt to pull him back to Jotunheim through the mental connection alone. He gasped in pain as his magic sprained a little and the connection wavered, the image of his livid father smearing as Loki forced his magic back into place.

“Papa, please.” Loki whispered, unconsciously falling back onto the name he had had for his father as a child, “I need you to listen to me, you don’t understand the whole picture.”

“Loki, you will return to Utgard immediately for sedation, and you will tell me exactly who I am to hunt for the blood eagle or I swear by the ancestral ice that-“

“It’s Thor.” He whispered, voice barely audible as it left his throat, fear stealing the volume from the word and leaving it thin and weak.

 

Loki lay curled on his bed, knees drawn tightly against his chest. He refused to cry, or at least refused to recognised the frost which accumulated around his eyes, telling his fadir had nailed the situation in place. He had had a childish belief that his fadir could wave a hand and the situation would be remedied and he would be free to roam and choose who he saw fit. But no. He was bound, could feel the bond in his chest even as he lay curled in his frozen Asgardian oasis, tugging him insistently towards Thor, with a promise of relief and satisfaction upon completion. He rolled over, burying his head in his arms and gripping his hair in tight but gentle fists. He refused to search for Thor tonight, comfort and sleep be damned. Tonight he would stay in his rooms were he was supposed to be, just as his fadir had ordered. 

 

His father had been horrified and furious in equal measure, fear and grief for his youngest apparent in his face. The bond couldn’t be severed, not without bringing about Jotunheim’s total destruction, and they both knew it. Both knew that the lives of hundreds of thousands of jotnar were infinitely more important the bonding of the youngest prince, especially when the bond could so easily provide Jotunheim with the most powerful political tool it had had in millennia. The dissonance his father felt had been clear, furious anger towards the house of Odin, but a dark joy was slowly building, his father was ever pragmatic, and ever eager to find a method to get one over on the Allfather. Their next conversation, Loki knew, would include far less in the manner of grief and sympathy and far more in the way of preparation and strategy to bring Thor to heel. He knew one of the options, one which had already been in play on the Asgardian end: marriage. He had seen and felt the appraising gazes of Odin and Frigga, had seen the political machinations beginning to spin in their heads. Gazes which only became more intense as time went on, with every political win he made, their interest grew, every moment spent under their eye on Asgard secured him ever more as a good match for Thor. Patient where Thor was not, a balm to his temper, a smooth politician to his warrior, ideal in almost every way. It would be the ultimate trade which could be made between their houses, a piece of Jotunheim’s royal family seated on the left hand of Thor in exchange for access to Jotunheim’s core magic and link to Yggdrasil. 

 

His cunt clenched a little in interest at the thought of being wed to Thor and he pushed it down, clenching his thighs together as he attempted to rid himself of the thought of Thor being _his_. Of sitting astride that strong golden body, the cock he craved resting at his entrance, pressing up against his soaking folds, weeping head smearing his cunt with hot precome and transferring some of that almost oppressive warmth into his cold body. He imagined having Thor bound beneath him, unable to take control, allowing Loki to set the pace, and imagined the glorious feeling of his cunt engulfing Thor’s cock, that feeling of blissful fullness and heat deep inside his body… He whined a little as the bond tugged harder, bolstering his arousal and leaving him sopping wet. Unable to control himself any longer, he rolled onto his back, legs spread open in a manner that would have horrified him not four months ago, he had always been so chaste, as any good Jotunn should be, untouched by any except their future bond-mate, but now… now it was like a fire had been set in his body, and everything from before was ash. He trembled as he stroked his cock, he refused to stoop to the oh so tempting act of rutting against the bedding as though being taken on his belly, teasing at the head with shaky fingers, running his nails across sensitive flesh, and his thighs locked as he came far too quickly with a whining, whimpering groan. He flushed in embarrassment, thinking of the guard stationed outside his room, imagined the bulky, stone faced Asgardian hearing the wet sounds of his masturbation, hearing the needy, whorish noises which escaped his throat, and he prayed, even as a slither of arousal built in his belly, that the charms he had woven would keep his actions private. Quickly spelling his fingers clean, he dipped lower, and sank two slender fingers into the soft wetness of his cunt. 

 

The walk to Loki’s chambers was torturous, cock straining against his soft sleepwear, as though pointing him in the direction he needed to go. He allowed himself to be pulled toward the halls which were kept cool by Loki’s constant flow of magic, and shivered with anticipation. The earlier thoughts of humility and apology had faded in the haze of need and desire which spewed from whatever it was that linked them together. His hand drifted thoughtlessly to his cock, and rubbed at the engorged organ until he felt unbearably close to spending in his pants and that he considered, remembering the glorious feeling of filling his jotunn with his come, would be an almost criminal waste. He turned the corner and froze, quiet sounds carried on the air, light needy whimpers and moans slipped from behind the closed doors of Loki’s quarters, as well as the tell-tale sounds of masturbation. Thor closed his eyes, head tipping back as the bond yanked him forwards, speeding his steps and removing any inhibition which might have clung on to his starving mind. He was so close now, so close to solving whatever it was that had been done to him, so close to bringing that little blue Jotunn back to where he wanted him, where he _belonged_ … 

“Sire?” An irritatingly Asgardian voice enquired, “Is everything… alright?”

Another whine crept from behind the door and Thor flushed, but the guard seemed to hear nothing of the deliciously lewd sounds which his jotunn made. Thor wanted to moan as he imagined Loki’s naked body, still so clear in his memory from that fateful night, could easily imagine Loki crying out with pleasure beneath his own hands, but it would be nothing compared to what Thor would pull from behind those beautiful lips. He pulled his attention back to the guard in question, noting the ruddiness of his cheeks from standing in the cold, the slight chatter of teeth, even though Thor felt nothing of the sort, and he forced himself back into a princely headspace. 

“Quite. You may leave your post, Alric, I have… private matters to attend to with my- with Prince Loki.” He hoped his voice held steady, hoped that the long shadows had prevented the Einherjar from seeing the affliction which plagued him below the belt. His trousers were now wet with precome, cock weeping seemingly endless amounts of fluid in anticipation of claiming what was his. 

The guard’s eyes glanced at Thor’s bare chest, narrowing in confusion, and Thor wished for a moment that he had thought to put a shirt on. “As- as you wish, sire.” 

“Do not return until your next shift, Alric. I expect to be quite busy and capable of observing him for the time being. Now be on your way.” His voice was uncharacteristically sharp as he sent him away, and the soldier saluted, eyes still curious and unheeding of what was occurring behind the door, before turning and marching down the corridor and out of sight. 

He turned back to the door, barely conscious of the chill which emanated from it, more concerned with the room’s delicious resident. With a rough hand he leant against the door, forcing it to move from the position it had been frozen into, and, with a final groan of effort, entered Loki’s room. 

 

Loki froze as his door opened, legs splayed open as wide as he could have them and fingers pressed firmly against the achingly pleasurable front wall of his cunt. His other hand tugged on his over sensitised cock, which lay quiescent and spent in his hand. It almost hurt to touch but he couldn’t pull himself away, wanted to find another orgasm somewhere in his body, his nipples were puffy and aching from the time he had spent toying with them, had almost managed to come from the feeling of them being tormented alone. He trembled as that familiar blue gaze raked over his vulnerable, prone body, and came to rest on the lips of his cunt which were spread enticingly around the, _small so small compared to what this man would give him_ , stretch of his fingers. A faint part of him wanted to run, wanted to teleport far, far away, and hide from that hunger, but it was shut out by the bond’s overwhelming need. He couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t even fathom why this closeness had been so troublesome in the first place, at last, everything was right. His hands fell away from his starving body, no longer anywhere near as satisfying as they had been so recently, and he sat up from the slick ice he had been laid upon, rising shakily to his feet as his body pulled him toward the man who he had been craving for so long. 

 

Loki was a vision before him, body splayed out on his bed, shaking and trembling with the pleasure that he was forcing into himself, slender hands so busy until he laid eyes on Thor. Satisfaction rolled through him as Loki stood, beautiful face flushed and wanting, red eyes raking lasciviously over his body, and Thor’s mind went blank, any and all thoughts of restraint leaving him in that moment. His eyes feasted on the tiny waist he remembered his hands fitting around so well, how his stomach was spattered with that oddly pearlescent come, the dazed neediness in his eyes, and the deep flush which coloured his face and chest so appealingly. He advanced on Loki like a predator, slowly approaching his goal, cock twitching needily, and his hands clenched on air as they flexed, desiring to find purchase on his jotunn. The itching ache he had felt for months on end had finally resolved into pleasure, a deep humming in his chest, strangely peaceful even as his neediness rose, drawing him shaking step by shaking step closer to his gorgeous little jotunn. 

 

They fell into each other hungrily, Loki’s shapely thighs tight around Thor’s waist as he tried to grind his achingly empty little cunt against Thor’s cock, high needy whimpers and pleas dripping from his lips as he pulled at Thor’s clothes in frustration. He lifted the slender figure easily, enjoying the feeling of finally being able to hold Loki close, and he mouthed a possessive bite into the join of Loki’s neck and shoulder, laving his tongue over the teeth marks he left there. Loki whined a little at the feeling, hips rolling against Thor’s own, and Thor groaned in need, cock rubbing irritatingly up against the fabric of his sleep clothes. His hands caught in the folds of Loki’s skirts as he tried to find his way to the junction of Loki’s thighs, and he yanked hard but they held firm, and he growled in displeasure. He tore at Loki’s skirts with greedy hands, luxurious fabric tearing beneath his careless fingers, and allowing him access to what he had been craving. He trailed his fingers up Loki’s slick thighs and plunged three fingers deep into the weeping cunt he had spent the last three months dreaming about. _Perfection,_ he thought, breathless even in his own head, while his mouth busied itself along the slender lines of Loki’s throat. He sucked bruising kisses into the soft skin, moaning in greedy pleasure as the cold sank into his lips, and smiled into the spot he had claimed as Loki clamped down around his fingers, thighs tightening around his waist as he came on Thor’s fingers and his wetness trailed down his wrist. His jotunn was truly a needy little thing.

“More, I- I… Please, I need more…” Loki’s begging was a mere whisper against his ear, barely shifting golden hair which had begun to curl with sweat. “Give me it, I want it…” 

Thor hefted Loki’s weight with a hand on his waist, and for a moment he absorbed how perfectly they fit together, but refused to remove his fingers from where they drove and curled into Loki’s pleasure centre in turns, leaving him trembling and shaking as he was kept in Thor’s grasp. Loki’s hands tugged ineffectively at the sleep clothes that encased Thor’s body, too far gone to search for ties and knots, nails digging tears into soft satin before, with a flash of green light, he lost his patience and Thor’s naked skin pressed firmly and hotly against chilled blue. With another staggering step, Thor’s knees finally hit the frozen bed and he collapsed heavily on top of Loki’s body. This was all he had wanted, all he needed, and he would be damned if anyone would take it away from him. He needed Loki like he needed air, and he descended again onto Loki’s trembling form.

 

Thor’s weight crushed him into the bed, and for a brief moment he was back in his tower on Jotunheim, waking to the feeling of being ploughed into, fucked hard and fast by a complete stranger. Loki moaned throatily as Thor’s mouth descended onto already aching nipples, everything was too much, every heated touch left him raw and aching for more and less at the same time, but his back bowed seemingly of its own volition, pushing his chest into Thor’s seeking mouth, begging for the hot, wet, suction which consumed his thoughts. Somewhere, deep in his unconscious, he thought of his chest swelling from the stimulation, of Thor’s face buried in his chest every day, sucking and consuming and- he came again, orgasm almost painful but still addictive. As his back arched into Thor’s lips again, he dug his feet into where he assumed an Aesir’s kidneys would be, pulling him roughly toward where he wanted him most, and gasped as the head of Thor’s cock brushed against his cunt, and white shot through his vision. It was _perfect_ , perfect against his aching hole, smearing through the slick which seemed to come in waves. He bucked again, his dripping slit almost catching on the head of the cock he had been craving for so long, but it slid away again as Thor rutted up against his stomach, still distracted by the now violet nipples which felt chafed and swollen from too much attention. With a shaky but firm hand he fisted Thor’s hair, and yanked his head back, forcing dazed blue eyes to meet his own bleary red. 

“Fuck me now, please, please fuck me.” He whispered, punctuating his words with tugs to the golden mane for which Odin’s son was so famed, it was as close to a command as he could currently get, voice shaking with want, but Thor was agreeable, and Loki flopped back to the bed as the onslaught continued. 

Thor rutted against him again, and this time found his mark. The stretch was unbelievable, so much bigger than Thor’s three fingers combined, forcing him open, and his legs lost their purchase on Thor’s body, falling to the side weakly, leaving him open and willing for whatever Thor wanted to give him. 

 

The sixth time Thor came in Loki’s cunt, he barely stuttered in his ploughing, even though Loki had gone limp long ago. His hands had found Loki’s and they had slotted together perfectly, his large calloused hands dwarfing the slender blue fingers, and he pinned them above Loki’s head, enjoying the look of Loki as a conquest, pinned and helpless beneath the might of his body. He slammed in harder, and Loki twitched around him, bouncing a little further up the bed with each rough thrust. It reminded him of when he had been sleeping, sweet and doll-like as he never was during his waking hours, and Thor relished it, relished that he was the one to drive the waspish jotunn to this vulnerable state. He felt himself draw closer and slowed down, leaning down to press another kiss to Loki’s slack mouth. Loki’s lips were swollen from the number of biting kisses which had been bestowed upon him, waist once again a map of Thor’s possessive touch, thighs wet with slick and spend even as he blessed him with more. With a final trembling thrust, Thor collapsed onto his jotunn’s heaving form, cock finally spent and quiet, and the aching buzzing which had plagued him was now replaced by a feeling of utter serenity. With a groan he rolled over, pulling Loki to rest on his chest, cheek pillowed on his shoulder, Loki whimpered as sleep began to take him and Thor slid a soothing hand into his hair, tiredly rubbing circles into his scalp, and slowly Thor felt the tremors which wracked Loki’s form begin to still, and his jotunn slid deep into sleep. After that his own body began to drop into sleep, and as his eyes slid closed, a flicker of copper red hair appeared in the corner of his vision and a white hand reached toward Loki’s vulnerable form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a little while, right? New job means next to no writing time, so updates will be a smidge unpredictable for a time. I hope you all enjoy, and maybe next chapter we'll get some plot (we will, I swear, but porn is so much easier to write when you're tired lol). 
> 
> Happy new year, maybe? Or is it too late for that?
> 
> Edit: What happenend to chapter 6? I wasn't happy with it and some of the comments really reflected that. Trying to revise it at the moment but in all honesty I've kinda lost the plot with this fic and might put it on hold for a while longer. Sorry, folks.but hey, lesson learned: if not 100% happy, no post. Also realising that I much prefer writing one shots lol

**Author's Note:**

> I have been meaning to write this for ages, to the point that it should have been the first fic I posted to this site. However, better late than never. I kind of love writing young Thor as an asshole, as much as I adore Thor as the hero he is. Also, do titles ever stop being the hardest part of writing?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> This is unbetaed and, as always, if there's any mistakes or general weirdness in my writing, let me know and I'll fix it.


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